


such is the stuff from where dreams are woven

by lost_decade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 11:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: Nico isn’t in the habit of doing things like this. Not anymore. Once, maybe, years back when he was a rookie and Mark used to look at him as if he was the juicy t-bone steak that would break every single rule of his diet.





	such is the stuff from where dreams are woven

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Station to Station by David Bowie. Inspired by Nico's Deutsche Bahn ad. Not very Christmassy but it's been sitting in my drafts for ages!

Nico isn’t in the habit of doing things like this. Not anymore. Once, maybe, years back when he was a rookie and Mark used to look at him as if he was the juicy t-bone steak that would break every single rule of his diet. All Nico’d had then was a point to prove, not a championship to win or lose. Now he’s lost a couple and finally won one, and he’s not reckless. He doesn’t do this. Except…well, except he is.

Everyone needs a release sometimes, everyone needs –

Fuck. The train rocks a little and Nico slips forward, the mirror cold against his cheek, Georg’s hands gripping his hips tightly, breath hot on the back of his neck as he mouths at the ever so lickable flesh. Nico moans, pressing back onto Georg’s dick, the angle just right, deep and blissful and almost, almost but not quite too much.

It’s so long since anyone’s had him like this, in a public place where the stakes are high. Mark had screwed him like this in the garage once, after the disaster of Interlagos, a little goodbye between teammates before he left for the destructive clutches of Red Bull. Yet in racing every move was calculated, every risk evaluated in the sharpest corners of his mind. Now his brain is soft around the edges, fuzzy with the pleasure that’s making his body shiver. Georg moves his hand to cover Nico’s mouth, silencing the obscenities that are falling from his lips.

“Fuck, I always hoped you’d be like this,” Georg murmurs into his ear, and that’s interesting because while Nico has only been thinking about this for a short period of time this would indicate that for Georg it’s been much longer. Something to come back to later.

Nico loves the praise, adores being told that he’s worth it, gratitude tumbling garbled from his lips as he reaches for his cock, smearing pre-come over the head with an open mouthed groan that affords Georg the opportunity to slip his fingers past Nico’s lips. Nico sucks on them desperately and that’s what does it for Georg really, his brain associating the sensation with the idea of Nico on his knees sucking him off. He thrusts hard into Nico a couple more times before coming, half draped over Nico’s back as he stills his movements and spills into the condom.

Nico hadn’t realised he’d missed that feeling until this moment, is glad that he's identified the need for it now. Georg sags against him momentarily, dazed with pleasure, until an announcement comes over the loudspeaker informing passengers that they'll shortly be arriving into Hannover.

They should get back to their seats, Nico knows, fingers still slick on his cock as he runs his thumb over his slit. His legs are shaking and Georg's dick is still inside him as he tries to think of how they can easily get to where they need to be. All he can think of though is how desperately he needs to have an orgasm, how close it is and oh fuck what if there's someone waiting to use the bathroom and they'll walk out and--

“Shh,” Georg whispers when Nico says his name. He pulls out carefully, disposing of the condom before turning Nico around and getting to his knees on the floor of the toilet, wrapping his lips around Nico's cock like he's always dreamed of. The train is just pulling into the station when Nico comes in Georg's mouth with a choked cry before they have to make their way back to their seats.

  
*

Georg alternates between glancing at Nico and staring at his emails without taking anything in. It’s a thankless task and as he checks through his calendar it’s with a macabre sense of excitement that he remembers they’re sharing the same flight to Abu Dhabi in just a few weeks. Seven hours to fall asleep beside each other.

He recalls how around this time last year he’d felt that odd sense of disappointment at the season coming to an end because although it meant more time back home with the family it also meant no more Nico for a while. This year of course it’s all different and the winter doesn’t have to mean the absence it once did.

“Do you think your Deutsche-Bahn counterparts are out there somewhere now, making their way to Frankfurt in some alternate universe?” Georg asks with a cheeky smile.

“I think if they are we’ll still beat them, don’t you? I don’t think Racing Nico kept to the speed limit, he may have been pulled over.”

“Why rush when you can travel in style,” Georg stretches out, immediately whacking his knee on the table leg, prompting a somewhat sympathetic laugh from Nico.

“Just like Concorde.”

“Yeah, trust me if Concorde was still around I’d have got you that gig instead.”

“I’ve been on it actually. When I was really small so I don’t remember, but yes, with my dad.”

Georg’s eyes widen. He forgets sometimes. Nico does affable man of the people so well that Georg sometimes tricks himself into thinking they’re old University friends, instead of what they actually are, which is something he’s only about 60 percent sure of now.

“Wow,” Georg replies, reaching for the in-train magazine and flicking to the first page in an attempt to disguise quite how impressed he is.

He reads through Nico’s interview, hearing the Champion’s voice in his head with each line. He hasn’t said much since Lewis claimed his fourth title, beyond pointing out to Georg that he’d updated his social media accounts to include 2016 before having it inevitably referenced to him by Lewis’ loyal army of fans.

They haven’t spoken, Nico and Lewis, Georg knows. He can see it occupying Nico’s mind sometimes and wonders if that’s who he’s thinking about now as he looks out at the city receding into the distance.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over the table and touching his hand to Nico’s, their fingers brushing together.

“I’m good. Tired. I was thinking that Alaïa was the most perfect baby and hardly ever woke up in the night, and how Naila is the complete opposite. But Vivi I think just always let me sleep when I was still racing.” Nico lifts his hand a little, letting Georg’s fingers slip between his own, thumb softly stroking the back of his hand.

“So if I was not so, uh… full of stamina that’s why.”

Georg’s eyes widen. He wants to say that he doesn’t really have those kind of standards but can’t quite think how to phrase it in a way that doesn’t sound entirely awful and derogatory. “I don’t make a habit of…” he clears his throat, “that. So you were. Well, you know…” he glances around the compartment, thinking. “Nothing like that’s ever happened before.”

“Ever?” Nico asks in astonishment, as if this is all perfectly commonplace.

“No. No, I mean not ever. Just not with someone I know in a professional capacity.”

Nico hums thoughtfully at that. He’d kicked off his shoes as the train left Hamburg and his socked foot presses against Georg’s ankle beneath the table, rubbing gently. The doors to their compartment slide open, Nico retracting his hand with as lightning-fast a reflex as you would expect. It’s just someone looking for their seat though and Nico helpfully points them in the direction of the correct carriage, after posing for a selfie.

He’s so good at fame, Georg realises, better than Lewis, who flits between courting it to the point of obsession to wanting to be left alone entirely.

The thread of their conversation well and truly disrupted, Georg busies himself with working for half an hour, glancing occasionally out of the window as the sprawl of the city, of home, thins into suburbia, green and pleasant still, not yet decimated by winter. He squints against the glare of the afternoon sun, the world beyond blurring as the ICE picks up speed as it crosses the Elbe, leaving Hamburg behind them and bathing Nico’s face in sunlight at the change of direction.

 _Just not with someone I care so much about,_ he thinks, exiting out of the email in favour of looking at one of his favourite faces in the world instead.  
  
Nico chooses that moment to look up, meeting his eyes and holding him captive for as long as Georg can stand, until he has to eventually avert his gaze, immediately wishing he hadn’t because the small red mark on Nico’s neck seizes his attention instead. Just below the collar, but then that’s hardly relevant when Nico likes to wear his shirts with three buttons undone, pale skin and soft hair and flesh ripe and blossomed beneath a longing mouth all on display, enticing everyone from the immaculately turned out ticket inspector to the busker in Trafalgar Square, whose guitar case Nico had casually dropped a twenty into two days previously. He has time for everyone, Georg thinks, fondly. Oh god he’s so so screwed.

He makes a mental note to advise Nico to wear a tie for the awards that evening, taking a deep breath, exhaling it slowly and glancing at his watch just at the same moment as the tannoy announces they’ll shortly be arriving into Hanover.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks, licking his lips. The action brings to mind the night before, those same lips stained crimson from the tannins in the pinot noir he’d drunk, the taste of his mouth.

“About earlier,” Georg begins, just as the train shudders to a halt on the platform at Hanover.

*

“…here with Georgus Maximus…” Nico is saying into the phone when Georg returns from his sojourn to the buffet car, placing their coffees down on the table and smiling as Nico angles the camera towards him.  
Georg watches as he runs through the Q&A. Perfect for YouTube, he really is.

He tries his best not to burn his mouth on his Americano, WhatsApp’ing Nina to let her know they made the train okay even with the crazy Hamburg traffic, before reaching for the copy of the train magazine, Nico’s face adorning the cover.

He’d told Nina that they'd kissed the night before, in a rushed trip home that morning before the train, while Nico waited outside in the car. She’d rolled her eyes at his apparent angst and held up their personal copy of Nico’s book while telling him that of course she knew and yes it was obviously going to happen eventually and that he should follow it wherever it was going. _Finally_. Well yes okay, Georg guesses he can’t really argue with that.

He figures the _now_ of it is down to the lack of physical contact more than anything. He’s swung from mild-crush level admiration to berating himself for not realising just how lucky he was all those times that he ended up with an armful of sweaty, exalted racing driver eager to hug and dance and celebrate, that sort of don’t-miss-it-till-it’s-gone feeling.

It’s not as though they were ever really all over each other before, just that the wins – and there were a lot of wins, a lot of podiums – had generally gone hand in hand with champagne-soaked hugs and celebrations. Especially Abu Dhabi. Fuck. Abu Dhabi. Even now the memory of it is still overwhelming. Nico crying in his arms after the podium, Nico dancing with him, sweaty and shirtless, his hair damp with perspiration and his breath intoxicating with the champagne they’d both shared from Ricciardo’s shoe (oh god, why?)

At that moment Georg had foreseen years of such glory ahead, seasons of being able to hold him legitimately. What a fucking bombshell.

But still, they’ve become something else now and just because Georg isn’t entirely sure how to define it, he’ll take it over the alternative.

“So how do you want me?” Nico asks when Georg reaches for his phone, suggesting they take some photos for his Instagram. His foot has returned to its place pressed against Georg’s ankle, both of them starting to settle into the feeling, the warmth of the connection.

“How about with the magazine first,” Georg pushes said copy of _DB Mobil_ across the table to him. Nico takes it, holding it up to his face, his own image airbrushed to an unnecessary level of perfection staring out from the cover into Georg’s iPhone camera.  
After a moment he moves the magazine to one side slightly so that half his face is peering cheekily out at Georg, who beams affectionately back at him.

“Okay one more. Lean your head against the window,” Georg directs. “Look romantic, like you’re thinking about Vivian.”

Nico’s eyes sweep over him knowingly before gazing out into the distance at the homeland that has never actually been his home. The dark blue of his shirt is regal against his pale skin. _It’s the Finn in me,_ he always said whenever Georg marvelled at his inability to tan beyond the slightest shade of colour. He raises his phone, snapping a few more photos.

“Good?”

“Gorgeous.”

Nico chuckles at the compliment, raising his hand and slipping it inside his collar, still focussing on the countryside even as his fingers find the mark on his neck, rubbing over it slowly and making a soft little noise low in his throat.

Georg’s breath hitches as the memory hits him hard, straight between his thighs. Nico had thrown his head back in offering so willingly, guiding Georg’s mouth from where it met his own down to latch onto his neck with a shudder. He tries to gather himself, to not panic at the newness of all this.  
“I had no idea you could be this much of a tease,” he comments lightly.

“Long train journey,” Nico replies, his foot slipping higher up the inside of Georg's leg before he withdraws it.

“Do you regret it,” Nico asks seriously then, the playfulness gone from his voice as he pulls up his collar to cover the mark, uncertainty in his eyes for the first time since they kissed on the way back from the bar the night before. Georg probably shouldn’t but fuck, he loves that vulnerability, the way that Nico can confidently address a crowd and engage them so charmingly but then after he always looks to him with a little tilt of the head as if to gauge his approval. It gets under his skin, that, the way that Nico cares so much about what he thinks.

He opens his mouth to respond at the same moment as the door slides open, making way for the refreshments trolley.

“So the car is picking us up from the hotel at 6. The dinner is at 8 and then you’re receiving the award just after 10.” He reels off as Nico declines the refreshments, studying the details on his phone carefully, pausing to take a breath only when they’re alone again.

Nico leans forward, elbows on the table as he levels Georg with a slightly nervy stare, the kind he once used in press conferences when he was asked awkward questions about Lewis.

“No, I don’t,” Georg tells him. “Do you?”

“No. Why would you think I regretted it?”

Georg isn’t really sure. “Vivian…” he says vaguely.

“Vivian is everything to me, you know that. But we’ve spent a lot of the last ten years apart and well, we have an understanding about certain things.”

Georg frowns. He gets it, he’s just not sure he likes being part of a predetermined arrangement, preferring instead to think of it as more organic. Yet still, he can’t deny that he wants Nico. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask if Lewis is part of their understanding too, but there are some lines that even he is unwilling to cross.

“That’s good to know,” At least it means he can still look Vivian in the eye the next time he sees her.

"Don’t overthink things, it was a nice evening last night, a nice train journey today, no?”

Georg can’t help but laugh. Of all the things, _a nice journey_ is definitely not how he’d describe his (okay he’ll admit it) biggest wank fantasy ever coming true.

“Yeah, it was. Perfect, even.” He reaches for Nico’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, wishing he could do more than that. His lips linger there for a moment as he looks up, meeting Nico’s eyes with a smile.

“Tonight will be even better,” Nico whispers in Georg’s ear when the train has pulled into Frankfurt and they're waiting to get off.

 


End file.
